


these tangled fates

by tegary



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bisexual Thor, Bodyguard AU, College AU, Concubine Loki, Curses, First Kiss, Genderfluid Loki, General Shenanigans, Human AU, Intersex Loki (Marvel), Jotunn AU, Jotunn Loki (Marvel), Jötunn Loki, Lady Loki, Love Confessions, M/M, Mates, Mentioned Biphobia, Mpreg, Mutual Pining, Pansexual Loki, Post-Ragnarok, Queen!Loki, Sibling Incest, Time Travel, Tumblr Prompts, Underage Drinking, almost kisses, cuddling for warmth, drunk, fairytale AU, fake married, hospital au, iw, king!Thor, loki is actually a witch, love potions, roommate au, surprise boner, tags change by chapter, val and loki bonding time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-13 12:35:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 16,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14748995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tegary/pseuds/tegary
Summary: A collection of tumblr prompts I received from the following list:https://tegary.tumblr.com/post/174197376024/fanfiction-trope-mash-up





	1. diplomacy

**Author's Note:**

> 49 + 99: Fake married & magical accidents. Written for @foundlingmother :)

This really isn’t Loki’s fault. So what, he may have implied that he and Thor are engaged to be married. How was he supposed to know that the dark elves would take Loki’s use of “our” in his drafted peace treaty as a promise of his and _Thor’s_ fidelity, and not of Asgard as a _whole?_ Loki can’t be held accountable for cultural differences. At least, that’s what he tells Thor that night over dinner with the newly-crowned king.

“Another successful peace meeting,” Thor rumbles, pleased, when Loki slips him the roll of parchment signed by the Svartálfar leaders. It is yet a draft, they’ll have to meet once more in order to finalize the agreement. “Tell me again why you won’t let me declare you my Grand Vizier?”

“Hold off on thanking me for a moment,” Loki sighs, black nails beating out a nervous _tap-tap-tap_ on his still-empty dinner plate. “This one comes with a condition.”

“And what would that be?”

Loki tells him everything.

Thor is staunchly against the plan at the beginning. Though it’s been nearly ten years since Loki’s true heritage was revealed to the Asgardian people, it’s unlikely that they would react positively to a union between their king and his adopted brother.

“It doesn’t have to last any longer than it takes for the Svartálfar to sign the final agreement,” Loki points out, hands fisted in his lap. He’s unsure as to why Thor’s apparent revulsion at even the thought of marrying Loki has him so agitated. “Thor, honestly. We are on the verge of an era of peace throughout all the Nine Realms. It’s never been done before. Don’t our people deserve this? Free, fair trade between the realms, no constant fear of war…and the only price is pretending to actually enjoy my presence for a couple measly moons.”

“I do enjoy your presence,” Thor grumbles petulantly. Loki knows he’s won.

Their outing to the court is a disaster. Thor sputters and stumbles through the announcement, and he won’t even come within a foot of Loki for most of the night. They have Loki’s silver tongue to rely on, luckily, but Loki can tell that most of Thor’s advisors aren’t buying it one bit. If they’re going to pull this off with the Svartálfar, they need a better plan.

Loki’s only dabbled in love magic once, when he was a teenager, feeling wretched and unlovable and particularly alone. He’d felt so damned _guilty_ about it, though, that he’d slipped the poor palace maid an elixir before anything could even happen. This time, he doesn’t have that luxury. He needs Thor to look like a proper besotted newlywed at the peace meeting if they’re to finalize this treaty. Loki himself won’t have any problems with this, seeing how skilled of an actor he is (and, honestly, he’s big enough to admit that when it comes to Thor, he doesn’t need to _act_ like a besotted fool. He’s surprised Thor hasn’t noticed by now. Or, maybe he has, and that’s why he seems to be avoiding Loki in the weeks leading up to the peace meeting). 

A half hour after Thor downs the goblet Loki had spiked with love potion, Thor seems to warm to him again. It’s all just as well, because the meeting has begun, and Thor stands behind Loki, stroking along the tense line of his shoulders as he negotiates a few particularly tricky terms with the Svartálfar ambassadors. It’s ridiculously soothing, and Loki finds himself relaxing into Thor’s touch. The rest of the evening, Loki wonders if he hasn’t messed up and accidentally slipped _himself_ some of the potion. He’s pressing into every touch Thor is willing to give, inseparable from his side. Even the Svartálfar comment on it once, to which Thor gives them a beaming grin before cupping Loki’s chin in his overly-large hands and pressing a kiss to his lips. 

Loki’s an idiot, and he’s gone too far. The Svartálfar are eating it up, but he fears his and Thor’s relationship will never recover. Hel, _Loki_ may never recover, after knowing the taste of Thor’s lips and the feel of his warm breath against Loki’s skin.

Later that night, in the quarters they are sharing for their stay on Svartalfheim, Loki confesses his sin.

Thor just blinks at him once, twice. Then, he breaks out into laughter.

“This isn’t funny, Thor,” Loki hisses between clenched teeth. “I’ve manipulated your emotions without your consent.”

“You mean the potion you tried to slip into my mead?” Thor asks, and Loki goes stock-still. “Loki, I didn’t drink a drop of that. I saw you do it.”

“But you– _but you_ –”

“But I what? Held you? _Kissed you_? Was that something you didn’t like? Because I seem to remember you pressing in to it.”

Loki doesn’t have an answer to that. His mouth is hanging open, and this may be the first time in their shared lives together that Thor has left him _truly_ speechless. 

“Perhaps we don’t have to call off this engagement after all. Though, I do believe I’d like to take you to dinner before we marry, if you’d be amenable.”

“I hate you,” Loki sputters out.

“I love you too, Loki,” Thor grins, reeling him in for another kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ficlets that share a universe:
> 
> The events of Thor (2011) never occur. Thor ascends to the throne, Loki remains by his side as his closest advisor: Stop-->Diplomacy-->Expectant-->Soft-->Mother
> 
> Fairytale AU: Loki is a witch. Thor is king of Asgard (without his powers or Mjolnir): Beginnings-->Closer
> 
> Loki survives Infinity War: Marked-->Mate


	2. marked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 42 + 96: The big damn kiss & Scars

“I’m here.”

Loki is half-expecting the embrace that Thor crushes him with. He’s gathered up in his brother’s arms, held to his chest, squeezed so tight that he can barely take in air. It’s the best kind of breathlessness, though, and Loki pats gently at his brother’s back, trying to conceal a smile.

What Loki isn’t expecting is the hand that slips up under his armor, palms at his sweat-slick skin with a keen possessiveness that has Loki shivering. He thinks it might just be a mistake, until the hand slides higher, tracing along the curves of Loki’s lower back to rest lightly at the base of his spine.

He’s almost afraid to say it, like the sound of his punched-out voice might break the spell. “Thor?”

“Is this okay?”

Is this _okay._ Loki feels as though he might laugh at the utter _irony_ of the question. He’s spent his whole life chasing after Thor, vying for his attention, aching fiercely after something that he knows he can’t have. And now, it seems, that something is serving himself up to Loki on a silver platter. If this is how the Norns reward those who decide they’d like to be _something more_ , Loki thinks he might just have to keep doing good.

“It’s okay,” is how he chooses to reply.

Thor, bless him, does seem to try and start out slow. He’s careful with Loki’s soft leather vambraces, works at the clasps of his outer armor free one at a time. But that’s about as far as Thor gets before his patience seems to snap, and he undresses Loki the rest of the way with a fervent _need_ that has heat creeping up Loki’s neck to stain his skin red.

The nagging little feeling at the back of Loki’s brain that he’s _forgetting something_ is vindicated when Thor finally gets him bare from the waist-up, and then just _stops._ Loki makes a soft noise of protest, wriggles off where he’s braced against the wall to press closer to Thor.

“ _What?_ ” He snaps. Thor replies by pressing his palm to the center of Loki’s chest.

 _Ah, that’s it._ Thor has seen the scar. It’s an ugly, jagged thing, dark against the stark white of his skin. The Dark Elves were particularly skilled at creating weapons that could inflict painful damage, Loki would give them that.

“You saw it happen,” Loki says, eyebrows raised.

“You…I thought you…” and Thor looks lost, fingertips playing up and down the jagged line. “I thought you faked it.”

“Oh, I did fake it,” Loki replies, still puzzled as to why Thor looks so damn _affected._ “My death, that is. Couldn’t exactly fake the giant spear, though. That was real.”

Thor goes worryingly silent, remaining blue eye trained on his chest, and Loki fidgets a little under the intense scrutiny.

“Honestly, Thor, I–”

Before he can finish his sentence, though, Thor is grabbing him by the shoulders, pulling him in to a harsh kiss that knocks the breath out of Loki’s lungs. Loki can feel his brother _shaking_ where their bodies are pressed together, and the smell of ozone, fresh and heady, invades his senses. 

When he pulls free, Thor’s eye is _white._

Uncertain, all Loki can do is keep himself from shrinking away from his brother. He hasn’t a clue if it’s dangerous to touch Thor when he’s like this, but Loki sees no other way to call him back. Carefully, inch by inch, Loki reaches out to mould his hand to Thor’s cheek. Electricity tingles at his fingertips, unhinged but not painful.

“Come back,” Loki says quietly. “Come back to me,” he doesn’t mean to add, but it escapes his throat anyways.

Thor’s eye sparks once, twice, before slowly fading back to a familiar sky-blue. Again, Loki is gathered in a hug, but softer this time, reverent. 

“Never again, Loki,” Thor says quietly, and Loki blinks up at him. “I need you here. With me.”

 _I can’t promise you that_ , Loki thinks.

“Never again,” He says instead.


	3. speechless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8 + 60: Hospital AU & Poorly timed confession

“You _what_?”

“I really fancy you, and I’d like to take you out to dinner sometime.”

Loki can’t say he’s truthfully been speechless many times in his twenty-three years on this Earth. The last time he can remember honestly not being able to think of a response, it had been in high school, when his mother had sat him down in the living room and taken both of her hands in his.

“You shouldn’t take Val to homecoming,” Fárbauti had said softly, green eyes earnest. Loki had frowned and tipped his head.

“And why’s that, mother?”

“It just…it wouldn’t be fair to either of you. She has feelings for you, Loki. I can tell.”

“And? What if I have feelings for her, too?” Loki had sputtered nervously, warning sirens starting to blare in his head.

“We both know that you don’t,” Fárbauti replied, giving Loki one of her signature soul-searching stares. “You should ask Thor instead. He’s a nice boy, and I’ve seen how you watch him when he mows our lawn.”

His mother had given Loki’s hands a squeeze, and then left Loki to sputter out half-hearted excuses alone.

Of course he’d been attracted to Thor, who _wouldn’t_ have been? The starting quarterback for their high school team, student body president, state-ranked mathlete, Thor Odinson was just about everything someone might want in a man. And his looks didn’t hurt, either. All that soft, blond hair and tanned, corded muscle…Loki had often caught himself staring out the window for a ridiculous amount of time, watching the other boy push a lawnmower across the Laufeyson’s lawn on sweltering summer days. Thor had caught his gaze once or twice, grinned and smiled, and Loki had sheepishly returned the gestures before slinking off to curl up in embarrassment. 

So now, for Thor to be bleeding profusely from his recently-emptied eye-socket, barely clinging to consciousness in Loki’s ER, asking him on a date? Loki attributes it to the blood loss.

“Mr. Odinson, I asked you how this happened,” Loki says calmly, carefully peeling at the gauze he’d used to stem the bleeding. 

“Is that a no?” Thor asks, miraculously alert for someone who just had an eye torn out of their head. 

“It’s…” Loki sighs. “It’s not a no. But first, tell me how you managed to lose an eye.”  
  
Thor’s grin is a little bloody, and Loki curses himself at how his heart rate picks up at the sight. “Do I have a story for you.”


	4. gulity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 86 + 90: I didn’t mean to turn you on & Unexpected virgin

“Stop staring.”

“Easy for you to say,” Thor grumbles, walking just behind Loki at her left elbow. Loki simply turns her painted lips up in a little self-satisfied smile and continues to carve a path through the marketplace.

It had been a simple enough plan. Get Lady Loki into the tavern, have her work her magic on the bartender, and, _viola!_ free alcohol. Though Thor and Loki are both past the age of consent by a couple years, they’re still not old enough to legally buy and consume alcohol by Asgard’s standards. 

“I’m going to change that when I’m king,” Thor had declared to Loki, Sif, and the Warriors Three one day after sparring practice. “I’m going to abolish age requirements for alcohol.”

“What, you want babies to be able to drink?” Sif had asked incredulously, and Loki had laughed at her side.

“He would.”

“Thor, you’re staring again,” Loki snaps.

How was Thor to know that Loki would make such a… _beautiful_ female? Not as if Loki wasn’t already beautiful enough in his male form. Distressingly beautiful. Beautiful to the point where Thor was beginning to wonder if there might be something wrong with him, considering the fact that he’d turn down any suitor’s attentions just for one of Loki’s rare smiles. Realizing he’d let his gaze trail from Loki’s shoulders down to the curve of her hips, Thor shakes his head harshly and fixes his gaze stubbornly on the tavern that they’re rapidly approaching.

“You stay out here,” Loki whispers to him. “Try not to look suspicious.” 

“Me? Suspicious?” Thor asks awkwardly, leaning his elbow on a barrel outside the door. “I wouldn’t know the meaning of the word.”

Falling face-first into the barrel of water when it cracks open is worth it, just to see Loki hide a smidgen of laughter behind her fingertips. 

“I’ll be back shortly.”

She returns less than ten minutes later, red lips tipped in a smug smirk and two tankards of ale clutched in her fists. Tugging Thor back behind the tavern, Loki casts an invisibility charm, and they return to the palace undetected, sneaking back into Thor’s room and eagerly chugging their ale. 

“This is disgusting,” Loki says, after finishing hers a full twenty seconds before Thor does. “I don’t understand why people like it so much.”  
  
“I think it’s less for the taste, and more for the effects,” Thor hiccups back, leaning on his elbows and blinking sluggishly at the painted patterns adorning his ceiling. 

“Like what?” Loki asks. She sounds entirely unaffected, if not a little bored. 

“Like, I don’t know,” Thor drawls, lifting his head up to peer at Loki. The only sign that she just downed a full tankard of ale is the light pink blush rising to her cheeks. “It helps them relax. Loosens the tongue.” He hiccups again, and Loki’s eyes light quick-silver. It’s a look Thor’s seen many times. It never signals anything particularly good for Thor.

“You’re a lightweight,” Loki says, delighted. She’s begun to crawl across the floor towards where Thor is sitting, and Thor wishes not for the first time this evening that Loki hadn’t chosen to remain in female form after they returned to the palace. It’s much easier to forget when she looks like this. To pretend like this isn’t his sibling, like they’re not related, like these feelings that Thor’s having aren’t _wrong_.

“Am not,” Thor defends weakly, slowly inching back and away from his sister as she approaches, maniacal smile on her face. “That was just particularly strong ale.” And his back hits the wall. Thor has nowhere to go as Loki settles in front of him, reaching out to cup his cheeks. 

“You’re all flushed,” She giggles, and surely the alcohol has begun to take its effect, because Loki never _giggles._ Her face is dangerously close, and Thor gulps and tries to tear his eyes away from her gleaming red mouth.

Loki is keen, though, and Thor has never been particularly good at acting. “What is it, what’s wrong?” She asks, tipping her head. The way she’s sitting, with her arms propped up on her knees, shoulders forward, accentuates the soft curve of her breasts. Oh Norns, Thor’s staring.

Loki’s gaze follows Thor’s, and she seems a bit flabbergasted for a moment before a smile returns to her face. Only this time, it’s liquid-sharp, all pearly white teeth and self-satisfaction. “Well this is an interesting development.”

“Like what you see?” She teases, and Thor swallows with a dry _click_ of his throat. “You know, I’ve never let someone touch me in this body before. I wonder how it might feel.”

Slippery as the snakes she’s so keen on transforming in to, Loki moves herself into Thor’s lap, looping her arms around his shoulder. Thor gawps at her, mouth working soundlessly for _something, anything_ to say.

“Want to find out?” She purrs, and Thor’s in too deep. 

“Yes,” He mumbles, just barely loud enough to hear, and Loki tips her head.

“What was that, Thor?” She asks, and Thor gives his sister a half-hearted glare.

“Yes,” He repeats, louder this time. 

“Good boy,” Loki purrs, and Thor’s heart leaps into his throat as she leans down to press those perfectly-painted lips to his.

“Loki?” Thor asks sometime later, when he’s got Loki laid bare on the sheets beneath him, pink-faced and panting.

“Do you really need to ask a question right now?” She growls, face ticked in annoyance.

“Well…yes,” Thor says quietly, chewing on his lower lip. Loki sighs and sits up a bit.

“Out with it, then.”

“How…how do I, erm…” And Thor must be red as a tomato, he can feel the heat in his face. Loki tips her head at him and is silent for a second before her mouth falls open.

“You’ve never done this before.”

Thor’s sheepish smile is all the answer she needs.

“Gah, Thor!” She groans, throwing her hands over her face. “How did I get stuck with such an idiot for a brother?”


	5. spoiled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 14 + 30: Bodyguard AU & Holiday Fic

“You need more sunscreen, sir,”

Loki barely spares half a glance over the delicate curve of one of his shoulders, but Thor can tell that the boy has an incredulous expression on his face.

“Your father asked me to make sure–”

“My father seems to think that I’m a child who can’t take care of myself,” Loki snaps. “If your presence here is any indication.”

When Thor had signed up for this job, he hadn’t exactly expected to be _babysitting_ the only son of esteemed mafia boss Laufey. The boy was eighteen years old, after all, and Thor had assumed that he’d seen enough shit in his lifetime to act like a mature adult.

He’d been wrong. So, so very wrong. Loki is an absolute _brat,_ his personality would be more fitting for a sixteen-year-old. He talks back and lazes about and sends Thor on meaningless, trivial tasks, like last night when Thor had awoken to his phone blaring out its ringtone.

“Hello?” He’d gruffed, bleary-eyed and barely conscious.

“I’m craving gummy bears,” came the succinct voice from the other end. “Go get me some.” And then Loki had hung up, leaving Thor to blink at the ceiling, slowly starting to see red. Sometimes he swears he’s going to take Loki over his knee and spank him like the little spoiled child that he is.

Sometimes, his dick is a little too in on that plan. 

Why else would Thor have stuck around this long? He’s not a glutton for punishment. He doesn’t enjoy having things chucked at him when he has to tell Loki no, he hates having to wait on Loki hand-and-foot like some sort of servant. But, despite all that, Loki _is_ the reason why Thor’s still doing this job. The reason why Thor, who _hates_ planes with a passion, hopped on a 12-hour-long flight to some fancy beach resort in Mexico. Because of Loki. Because of bratty little Loki, who looks so smug when he thinks he’s pulled one over on Thor, who gets a little wrinkle at the bridge of his nose when he’s thinking particularly hard, who cries out some nights in his sleep, afraid of phantom dangers that Thor can’t protect him from.

“Put it on me, then, if you’re so keen on it,” Loki says, flipping over onto his front on the beach chair he’s currently occupying. Thor can see where the tops of his shoulders have begun to redden through the paper-thin material of his tank top.

“Yes, sir,” Thor says.

 


	6. mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 32 + 97: Pregnancy fic & time travel
> 
> This ficlet happens to reference the events of my Bottled Star series. It can be read as canon within the series or not, it's entirely up to you! That being said, I don't consider this to be canon in that 'verse. I imagine Thor and Loki living long, happy lives and having a ridiculous amount of kids after the events of TTOTBO, personally.
> 
> (in the same universe as diplomacy & expectant)

“We found her trying to sneak into the East wing.”

The girl that stands in chains before him looks oddly familiar to Loki, but he can’t quite place where he seems to know her from. She’s a tall thing, lithe, with rivulets of midnight-black curls that cascade down her back and the brightest green eyes Loki thinks he’s ever seen. When a guard jostles her by the shoulder, the girl bares her teeth in a furious snarl.

“Enough of that,” Loki says, slowly rising from his seat on the throne. He prefers to sit more than stand, now, as he’s passing into his fifth month of pregnancy and his stomach has become quite the cumbersome weight. 

“But your majesty–” 

“We are not brutes,” Loki reminds the guard, comfortably settling one hand atop the curve of his belly. “The days of Odin’s Asgard are long gone, Aevar. Need I remind you which king you now serve?”

“No, Majesty,” Aevar mutters, and Loki waves a hand in dismissal.

“Leave us,” He says, and both of the kingsguard look up in alarm.

“You can’t be serious. Leave our Queen alone with a prisoner? The King would have our heads,” Tori, the youngest and most junior of Thor’s personal guard, balks. 

“She could have been sent here to assassinate you or his Majesty!” Aevar adds, and Loki casts an unimpressed eye over the pair.

“Thor, were he here today and not off negotiating peace with the leaders of the Nine Realms, would trust and respect my judgment.” Drumming his fingers over his swollen stomach irritably, Loki again waves a hand in dismissal, this time accentuating his point with a flick of the wrist. “Now, shoo.”

Aevar and Tori look to each other, have a momentary conversation consisting of the raising of eyebrows and shrugging of shoulders, before they deem this argument a lost cause and turn to exit the throne room. Clasping his hands behind his back, Loki calls one of his favorite daggers to his fist, studying the young girl before him.

Since she’s entered the room, her eyes have not left Loki’s face. Their brilliant green is now obscured by a mist of tears, and her lips are slightly parted, lower lip quavering with an emotion that looks strangely akin to grief.

“What is your name, young one?”

Surprised at being addressed, the girl seems to snap out of her reverie, lifting her eyes to meet Loki’s. A singular tear slides down her pale cheek. “My name is Brynhild, mo–your majesty.”

 _Brynhild. Loki’s always been particularly fond of that name._  “And why have you come here today, Brynhild?” The girl’s fists clench and unclench in their bindings, and Loki frowns. “Did someone put you up to this? If you tell us of their plan, you will not be–”

“Brynhild Lokidottir.”

Blinking harshly, Loki’s hands tighten on the hilt of the dagger behind his back. “I’m sorry?”

“You asked for my name,” Brynhild says quietly, face full of such sorrow that Loki’s heart gives an odd lurch in his chest. “My name is Brynhild Lokidottir.”

The cogs in Loki’s brain, usually swift and efficient, seem to have been doused in a vat of grease. His thoughts grind to a halt for a moment, and all Loki can do is blink dumbly at the young woman who stands before him. Now that he thinks of it, she does look strikingly similar to himself. The hair, the eyes, the moonlit-pale skin…but there’s no way he’d have a child without his knowledge. The babe that gestates within him now, made of his and Thor’s finally-recognized love, is without a doubt Loki’s first-born.

“I don’t know if this is some kind of jest–” Loki begins, but the girl interrupts him again. Brave little thing, having the gall to interrupt the All-Mother not _once_ , but _twice._

“It’s not a joke. I know this is probably hard to believe, but…” And Brynhild shifts from foot-to-foot uncomfortably. “Unchain me and I can prove it.”

Loki’s self-preservation instincts and curiosity have a short-lived battle before his need to know more comes out the victor, and he speaks a spell that unlocks the manacles around Brynhild’s wrists. She rubs them appreciatively before slowly approaching, palms out and open in a show of benign intentions.

“I’m going to reach into my back pocket, now,” She says, and Loki’s eyes track her hands as she slowly does so, retrieving what looks like a small square of paper. 

Taking a careful step forward, Loki accepts the shape from Brynhild’s outstretched hands. It takes a moment for his mind to register what he’s seeing, but, as soon as it does, Loki’s heart stops for a moment.

He’s holding a picture in his hands, one that seems a little dulled by age and torn at the edges by loving fingers. Depicted on the surface is a family, seemingly at some sort of celebration. But it’s not just any family–Loki’s own visage smiles back at him from the snapshot. Thor sits next to him, one arm around Loki’s shoulders, beaming his signature sunny grin. Cradled in Loki’s arms is a bundled babe with dark hair, fast asleep against his chest, and three other children seem to be climbing over Thor’s shoulders and arms: two boys, one dark-headed and one light-headed, and a blonde little girl perched in Thor’s lap.

“What’s this?” Loki chokes out after he regains some semblance of voice.

“This is my family,” Brynhild responds softly. 

When Loki looks back up, Brynhild is in tears, face buried in her hands and shoulders shaking something fierce. Moving as quickly as he can, Loki descends the stairs from the throne and gathers her close, letting her bury her face in his neck and cry.

“Why the tears, little one?” He asks when Brynhild looks up again, eyes rimmed red. 

“I-I…I come from the future,” Brynhild explains, hands still fisted in Loki’s robes like if she lets go, he’ll disappear. “But not exactly your future, as it seems. In my reality, this place was destroyed long ago. I’d only ever heard of it in tales you or Papa told me. Noma must have executed the spell wrong…” 

“ _Asgard_ was destroyed?” Loki asks incredulously, and Brynhild sniffles, nods.

“It’s a long story. It involves your sister, Hela.”

Stiffening at the mention of the Queen of Hel, Loki’s hand goes protectively to his bump. Hela had nearly killed them all, not so long ago. She claimed it her right, after apparently defeating some being called “Thanos” that no-one had ever heard of. It had taken all of Asgard’s combined power, but Thor and Loki had managed to seal her back in the realm from whence she came.

“In my reality…” And Brynhild’s hands tighten in Loki’s robes. “In my reality, you die two years after my birth.”

Loki freezes, chest constricting painfully. His alternate-world daughter looks up at him with wide, sad eyes, carefully bringing a palm up to touch Loki’s cheek.

“I couldn’t remember,” She says weakly. “Noma and Audun and Jari could remember, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t fair. They told me stories of you, and Papa told me stories of you, but it wasn’t enough. I–I didn’t mean to get caught. I just wanted to see you in person, if even from afar. I wanted to know…” And her lower lip trembles again. Loki gathers her up against his chest, rests his chin on her forehead.

“Sh, little one,” He murmurs. “All will be okay.”


	7. chilled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 74 + 86: Huddling for warmth & I didn’t mean to turn you on

“Heimdall!” Thor calls for the fifth time, voice stripping raw from the cold. “Open the Bifrost!”

“Enough.” And Loki reaches out and grabs Thor’s arm, squeezes tight. “Thor, _enough._ He can’t hear us.”

“Something must be wrong.” And Thor tugs at his arm distractedly, not nearly enough to free it from Loki’s grip. “He’s never failed to answer my calls before. There’s something the matter.”

“Or Odin’s just finally banished us for these ill-advised adventures of yours,” Loki grumbles, starting to tug Thor along with him. “But if there is something wrong, we’ll not be of much help to Heimdall if we freeze to death waiting for him to answer your call, will we?”

Thor’s response is a glare, but its effect is lessened by the way his jaw trembles with the chattering of his teeth. 

Loki manages to find them a cave carved into one of Jotunheimr’s steep cliffsides, tucked away from the bitterly cold wind and fanged creatures that lurk below. Thor has devolved into full-body shivering, hands tucked under his arms in an attempt to keep his fingertips warm.

“Sit,” Loki says, gesturing to his furred overcoat that he’s lain out on the stone floor. Normally, he wouldn’t dream of sacrificing his clothing as such, but this is one of his least favorite furs, and he’s fairly unaffected by the chill. At least, not in the way Thor is.

“How are you not cold?” Thor chatters at him, not only sitting on Loki’s coat but wrapping himself in it. _Well,_ Loki thinks to himself. _That one’s certainly a lost cause now._

“I like the winter,” is the only response Loki has, because he, too, is a little mystified at how unperturbed he seems by the temperature. “I’m also not a dramatic child.” Shaking his hands out once, twice, Loki closes his eyes and concentrates. When his lids light green, Loki blinks them open once more to see a small fire hovering in the air before him.

“I wish mother would lay off my lessons on healing magic and teach me something more useful every once in a while,” He complains, batting at Thor to get him to relinquish half of the coat so that Loki may sit next to him. “This is all I can do for warmth.”

Thor doesn’t respond, though, too focused on using the fire’s heat to return his blue-tinged fingers to life. Loki sighs and reaches out, gathering Thor’s hands between his and focusing his magic into his palms, warming them just enough so that he may share some of their heat with Thor.

“Thank you,” Thor murmurs after, looking up to meet Loki’s eyes in sincerity.

“Think nothing of it,” Loki replies, suddenly feeling a smidgen uncomfortable. He retracts his hands, folds them in his lap. For a while, he and Thor sit in silence, watching the dancing shadows that the flames cast on the stony walls of their refuge and listening to the cold wind howling outside the entrance to the cave. 

“Loki?” Thor speaks up after what could have been an hour, and Loki looks over at him. He’s shivering again, jaw clenched stubbornly against the chatter of his teeth. The tip of his nose has gone red. It’s almost a little comical.

“You’re helpless,” Loki sighs, before reaching over to the fastenings that hold Thor’s ridiculous cape in place. Delicately undoing both, he elbows and knees Thor until the oaf is lying down atop Loki’s coat. Pressing up against Thor’s chest, Loki wraps them both in the cape.

“You can wrap your arms around me,” Loki snorts, after Thor remains frozen for a good few minutes, obviously having no idea how to approach this scenario. “I won’t bite.”

“With you, one can never be sure,” Thor grumbles, pulling Loki tight to his chest and settling his chin atop Loki’s head. 

They end up drifting off to sleep like that, comforted by each other’s warmth. Loki is unsure of how long he’s out before he groans and blinks his sore eyes open. The storm outside has died down, Loki can no longer hear it raging at the mouth of the cave. He’s turned over in his sleep, and is now facing away from Thor, back to his chest, facing the wall. The oaf is _snoring_. This must be what has awoken Loki. Grumbling a bit, Loki wiggles about in an attempt to get comfortable enough to fall back asleep. The cave is still dark, he has a few hours yet until daylight.

Loki shifts a bit, attempting to snuggle back in to Thor’s chest, but one particular twist of his hips brings his backside into contact with something suspiciously…hard. Warm. Loki balks and is off the ground in minutes, standing at the opposite side of the cave by the time Thor awakens, blinking up at him blearily.

“What?” He slurs, voice sleep-dark, and Loki resents the way the tone of Thor’s voice sends a thrill up his spine.

“What. is. _that_?” Loki grits out accusatorially, pointing a shaking finger at Thor’s lap. His brother takes a moment before he realizes what Loki’s referring to. Loki can pinpoint the moment that Thor understands, though, as a pink flush rises high on his cheekbones.

“It’s just a bit of–I mean–” Thor sputters, eyes tracking around the cave to find anywhere to look other than Loki. “We were _spooning_ , Loki, and I–” 

“Because we had to,” Loki snaps, arms tight across his chest. “Because _I_ , out of the goodness of my heart, wanted to help warm you, because you looked so miserable. And you–you–you thank me by getting _hard?”_

“Sex is certainly an efficient way to create body heat,” Thor points out, the absolute _dullard_ , and Loki has flung a snowball at his stupid face before his own brain even registers the motion.

The only sound that fills the cave for a moment is Loki’s panting breaths. He’s almost worked up the energy to continue berating Thor before his brother breaks the silence first.

“Loki?”  
  
Strained. “ _Yes_ , Thor?”

“I’m cold again.”


	8. mate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 55 + 67: Established relationship & Character in peril

It had all happened so quickly. After they had retrieved Stormbreaker from Nidavellir, Thor had barely given them a moment to breathe before he was calling on the power of the Bifrost, cleaving the universe in two. Loki hadn’t the time to marvel at the sheer magical _prowess_ of the weapon before he was thrust directly into the fray, fighting against creatures that he had once commanded as his own.  

Allies come and go from his side: some he recognizes, some he does not. The Widow and the Captain both briefly join him in protecting Thor as he ravages wave after wave of Chitauri with his newly-forged weapon, along with a man with scruffy brown hair and a metal arm. After they leave, Banner takes their place, though looking far from the way Loki had expected: instead of taking the gargantuan form of the Hulk, Banner is encased in a suit similar to that of the Man of Iron. 

“Will your green friend not be joining us today?” Loki calls, pulling his favorite dagger out of the chest of one Chitauri just to spin and implant it in another’s. 

“He’s on vacation!” Banner calls back, blasting a row of ten of the alien creatures away with one of his palm repulsors. 

“I certainly hope he’s having a pleasant time of it,” Loki snaps in response, flinging three of his throwing knives at a few Chitauri that try to sneak up behind Thor while he’s taking down another wave of the creatures. Thor in this form is undoubtedly powerful, but also a bit paradoxically vulnerable: as he lets this power rage, he seems mostly unaware of his surroundings. It would be painfully easy to ambush his exposed back.

Luckily, he has Loki for that. 

Tiring of having to retrieve his knives from the fallen bodies of his assailants, Loki takes a moment, reaches deep inside himself for something that he buried long ago.

The next Chitauri that makes contact with him freezes instantaneously. When Loki sees his reflection in the creature’s glazed, unseeing eyes, it is in swaths of blue. 

“You change colors, too?” Banner calls, and Loki bares his teeth in a savage smile. 

The battle rages. Loki calls again and again upon the powers of winter, freezing his assailants or running them straight through with spears of ice. Loki is unsure of how long he and Banner have been fighting side-by-side before the scientist receives a call from the Captain.

“I’ll be right there,” Bruce says, before turning to Loki. “You got this under control?”

Frost races along the fissures engraved in the dusty ground beneath Loki’s feet, turning a wave of Chitauri crystalline on contact. Loki raises an eyebrow.

“Showoff,” Bruce mutters under his breath before he takes off. 

This, Loki decides later, is how he misses it. As Banner leaves, Loki turns to receive another wave of Chitauri, frothing at the mouth and desperate for the taste of blood. He takes out a good fourth of them before one knocks him over and he struggles under its weight, skin turning blistering cold in desperate defense and turning the air rancid with the smell of singed skin.

When he stands, the Cull has already made its move. 

 _“Thor!”_ Loki screams. It is too late.

Loki watches in horror as Thor falls from the sky, Cull Obsidian’s axe embedded in his back and Stormbreaker falling from his grasp. With a cry of anguish, Loki freezes over the wave of Chitauri surrounding him before he’s running as fast as his legs can carry him, skidding to a stop with barely enough time to call on his magic to soften Thor’s fall. 

“Silvertongue,” Cull Obsidian gruffs behind him, and Loki spins to face it, arms spread wide in front of Thor. “Thanos believes you dead.”

“Thanos does not know as much as he would like to think,” Loki responds, voice a tight hiss. Behind him, Thor groans in pain. Loki sees red. 

“And _you,”_ Loki continues, black frost eating at his fingertips, “Should know the consequences of threatening a Jötunn’s mate.”

The Cull moves before Loki does, but Loki is prepared. He throws up an icy shield as the giant rushes him, sending the dull creature toppling backwards as its skin goes frostbitten on contact. Magic flows from Loki’s being into the Earth beneath him as he approaches the Cull, and Loki watches with a strange sort of detachment as tendrils of black begin to eat their way up his prey’s body.

“You haven’t an idea of what you’re up against,” Loki murmurs, before moulding his palm to the side of the Cull’s face, watching its horrified expression freeze in to a permanent scream.

Turning, Loki crashes to his knees before Thor, desperately checking him over. The axe is still embedded in his back, though not as deep as Loki first thought. If he’s careful, he should be able to remove it.

“I’ve never seen you do such things,” Thor wheezes as Loki begins his work, carefully cauterizing the wound as he goes with brief touches of frost.

“Shut up, you idiot,” Loki grumbles back, brow furrowed in concentration. “I came up with an ingenious plan to save you from Thanos, and for what? For you to let one of his lackeys take you out?”  
  
“The blue is a good look on you,” is Thor’s response. Were Loki a lesser man, he might jostle the part of the axe still embedded in Thor’s back, just a bit. Luckily for Thor, Loki is both above that _and_ totally besotted with the fool.

“Don’t make me regret saving you,” and with a gentle tug, Loki frees the weapon, tossing it to the side as he closes the wound with a bit of frost bite. Thor will have a nasty scar after he’s healed, but Loki has not the time to center himself and call on his proper healing magic. 

“Thank you, beloved,” Thor murmurs as he uses Loki’s outstretched hand to help him stand, pulling Loki close to smooth a kiss over his lips. 

When he breaks away, Loki is smirking. Thor’s brow furrows, and he turns to follow his mate’s line of sight.

Behind him stands a Chitauri, frozen solid in its tracks. One of its hands is outstretched, poised to attack.

“Watch your back,” Loki says. 


	9. expectant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 32+ 79: Pregnancy fic & Anger Born of Worry
> 
> I consider this to be in the same universe as the first prompt, "diplomacy" :)

“What were you _thinking_?”

Loki scowls, picks at his black-laquered nails in order to avoid Thor’s livid gaze. 

 _“Loki.”_ And Loki’s chin is snatched up in Thor’s fingers, given a little shake. The Trickster hisses and takes a step back, wrenching himself from Thor’s grasp.

 _“Ouch_ , Thor, that _hurt,_ ” He growls, and the oaf at least has the decency to look a little guilty. 

“I’m sorry, Loki, but I don’t understand. Why would you even _consider–”  
_

“You want to know why I went to Jotunheimr?” Loki snaps, crossing his arms in a defensive gesture. He takes another step back to put more space between them, and Thor’s hands flex at his sides.

“Yes,” Thor says slowly, like Loki’s some sort of particularly dull child.

“I went because they sent me word _personally_ that they were finally ready to join talks for the peace agreement,” and Loki is staring at his booted feet, still avoiding Thor’s gaze. “I thought, what better wedding present than to give you than peace throughout all nine realms?” And Loki shrugs his shoulders. Honestly, he’s starting to realize what an ill-advised plan it was, now. “How was I supposed to know that they intended to keep me captive for the heir?”

Thor seems to deflate, then. His shoulders relax, and he takes a few steps forward, pausing to gauge Loki’s reaction. When the Trickster makes no moves to stop him, Thor again approaches, reaching out to carefully mould his palm against the underside of Loki’s swollen stomach.

He’s three months in now, just far enough along that Loki has begun to suffer the ill-effects of pregnancy: most mornings begin with Loki hanging over the washbasin with Thor behind him, holding his hair and rubbing his back in soothing circles. He’s also constantly _sore_ now, be it his back or his feet, and he’s also prone to tumultuous mood swings. Well, perhaps, more tumultuous than before. 

Additionally, Loki’s critical thinking skills have also begun to suffer, if the events of the past twenty-four hours are any indication. 

“I’m sorry, Thor,” Loki says softly as his betrothed gathers him up, tucks him against his chest. “I didn’t know it would end that way, truly. I wished only for peace.”

“I know, I know,” Thor soothes, face buried atop Loki’s head. His voice wavers. “But Loki, you don’t just have yourself to worry about anymore. If I were to lose _both_ of you,” and Thor’s voice is filled with such sorrow, such fear, that Loki can’t bring himself to meet his eyes. “I don’t know what I would do.”

“It won’t happen again, Thor,” Loki promises, pressing closer to his chest. “I promise.”


	10. sip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 62 + 90: Love Confessor (Character A confessing their love for Character B to Character C) & Unexpected Virgin

“You’re a funny drunk, do you know that?”

Loki gives Brunhilde a look out of the corner of his eye, tosses back another glass of ale. They’d stumbled upon the Grandmaster’s vast supplies after Thor had sent them searching for the mainframe of the ship’s computer systems, hoping they might be able to get in contact with Thor’s Earthly friends. 

“Why do you say that?” He asks. 

“Usually, you’re just so…put together,” The Valkyrie slurs, filling Loki’s glass again. Liquid sloshes over the sides and wets Loki’s fingers, sticky-slick. “Uptight.”

“I can’t say the same for you,” Loki responds, messily wiping his fingers off on one of his pants legs. He must be inebriated, as he’d never dirty his clothes as such in a normal state. Brunhilde studies him closely, nursing her own bottle of something that smells worryingly similar to paint-remover. “You act like a complete drunkard even when you’re sober.”

“Who says I’m ever sober?” She responds with a wink. She must see the unspoken disquiet in Loki’s eyes, though, because she deflates soon after. “I am,” Brunhilde says after a moment more, staring into her mug like the answer to all of her woes is written at the bottom. “Sober, that is. Sometimes. I’d like for it to be a more common occurrence. I think it will be, now.”

Swirling the amber liquid around in his cup, Loki gives a sigh. How is it that he always ends up being the therapist when he drinks with others? It was an annoyingly common occurrence, in Loki’s youth. Thor would drag him out to some degenerate tavern on the week-end, and Loki would have to sit and listen to his brother, or Sif, or one of the Warriors Three complain about their problems. With Thor, it was usually relationship drama.

_Don’t do it, Loki. Don’t ask, you don’t want to know—_

“Why is that?”

_Damn._

“Just…” And Brunhilde takes a moment, downs the rest of her mug before reaching for another bottle on the shelf. Loki’s hand moves before he registers it, and he catches her wrist. What follows is an odd sort-of staring contest, until Brunhilde sighs heavily and drops her arm back to her side once more.

“Your brother,” She supplies weakly.

“Thor?” Loki asks. _Like he has any other brothers_. He must be well and truly hammered.

 _Hammered._ For some reason, Loki finds that euphemism oddly humorous, and he swallows back a chuckle as Brunhilde continues.

“Yeah, Thor. His Majesty just…I don’t know how to describe it, but he makes me want to be something _more,_ you know? Something more than I am, right now. Something better.”

This time, Loki does chuckle, albeit a bit humorlessly. “I know.”

“He just…he _believes_ in me. I can feel it. And nobody’s really, truly _believed_ in me for so long, that I think I sort of forgot what it felt like.”

Silence envelops them for a moment. This time, when Brunhilde reaches for the bottle, Loki doesn’t stop her. Instead, he offers up his glass to be filled. They both down the clear liquid in a harsh swallow, and Loki fights the urge to shudder at the sharp burn it leaves in his chest.

“He tends to have that effect on people,” Loki says after he’s set his empty glass back down on the bar. Everything around him has begun to blur a bit, and when he turns on his stool to face the Valkyrie, he wobbles dangerously. Brunhilde reaches out to steady him, squeezes his arm a bit.

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

It’s an odd thing, really. When Loki first met this scrapper, he was sure that he didn’t like her. But now, sitting on this ship, hurtling through space, downing liquor like he’s a teenager with a broken heart, Loki feels _understood_ in a way that he hasn’t felt in ages.

“Thor is truly _good_ in a way that I’ve never seen from another being. He has his flaws and his vices, as we all do, but somehow they only seem to add to his virtue. When we were young, I thought him selfish. I thought that he only ever thought of his own wants, his own needs. Now…I realize that I was wrong. Thor is only ever worried about others, to the point where he sometimes neglects himself.” The hiccup Loki gives should be laughable, but a somber atmosphere has settled over them both. “I would not be alive today if it weren’t for Thor.”

“To Thor?” Valkyrie asks as she reaches for the bottle once more.

“To Thor,” Loki echoes.

Two glasses later and Loki is really starting to feel it. He hadn’t ever been a heavyweight before, landing somewhere between falling asleep after his first ale and Thor’s uncanny ability to down mead like water. Brunhilde is doing much better than he is, as she’s still upright and nursing another mug. Loki’s head is in her lap, and she’s braiding his hair as he stares blankly at the ceiling.

“And then, I turned her into a frog,” Loki finishes, barely able to speak through his laughter. He throws an arm over his eyes and giggles like a maniac, remembering Thor’s face after the beautiful young maiden he’d been kissing had suddenly become a toad. From somewhere above him, Loki hears a good-natured scoff, before Brunhilde tugs at his hair.

“Ow,” Loki complains.

“This is the third story you’ve told about exacting revenge on one of your brother’s girlfriends,” She points out, voice still so steady that Loki is a little jealous. “I’m starting to notice a pattern. Were you jealous?”

“Jealous?” Loki slurs, moving his arm so he can blink up at the Valkyrie. “Me? I never get jealous. Why would I be jealous? They just got to kiss him…and have his undivided attention…and listen to him wax poetic about their eyes…”

Brunhilde is silent. Worryingly so. Loki reaches up to poke the tip of her nose, but he ends up getting her on the upper lip instead.

“Hey,” He says.

“I was, uh,” and Brunhilde looks a cross between shocked and amused. “I was asking if you were jealous of _Thor,_ not of his girlfriends.”

“Oh.” Loki has just fucked up. Massively. He’s got to fix this.

“I think I’m in love with him,” he decides to say.

That probably just made things worse.

“ _In_ love with him,” Brunhilde asks, to clarify. “Not just that you love him. Like brothers do.”

“Is it brotherly love if I’ve never bedded anyone because I’ve always wished Thor would be my first?”

“No,” comes the choked response. An uncomfortable silence falls over the room. 

A moment later, Loki’s head hits the ground. Groaning, he glares up at Brunhilde, who has just stood in order to return to the bar. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to drink two more bottles, just to make sure that I’m _really_ drunk,” she says, uncorking them with ease. “And then you’re going to tell me everything.”


	11. beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 25 + 56: Fairy Tale AU & Awful First Meeting

In Loki’s long, long life, he’s seen three kings ascend to the throne of Asgard: first, King Bor, who was loud and brash and quite reckless in Loki’s humble opinion. Loki had gained his favour by casting a spell that would turn his pretty Jötunn war-bride entirely Aesir, thus ensuring that their child could ascend to the throne. Odin was much like his father: he was unapologetic and opinionated, and soon after his coronation he began to conquer worlds one-by-one, until all feared Asgard’s armies and none dared say a word against the self-proclaimed “tyrant king”. It’s not like Loki cared much what Odin did. King Bor had warned his son of the pact the crown had with Asgard’s resident blood-witch, and Odin had left Loki alone to continue living peacefully in his hut on the outskirts of Asgard’s vast forests.

 Loki is passing fifteen or twenty millennia (he stopped counting after the first couple, honestly) when King Odin finally decides to step down. Loki’s heard whispers of Odin’s heir during the infrequent trips he makes into the city for new cloth or other frivolities. His name, apparently, is Thor, and there is not a single Asgardian, male, female, or otherwise, who wouldn’t willingly jump into the Prince’s bed. Thor is golden and radiant, and, if the townsfolk are to be believed, quite a bit kinder than his father. He makes frequent trips to the market in order to buy wares from the town merchants, and stops to chat for hours with his constituents.

Even though Loki’s interest is piqued, he does not attend the coronation. Why would he? He lives not under the reign of the crown. Part of his agreement with King Bor, all those millennia ago, had been that Loki could do as he wished, as long as he refrained from actions that might bring war to Asgard’s front step. And Loki is quite content with his hut and his herbs and his potions. He has no reason to go looking for fights in other realms.

Early one spring morning, while Loki is carefully cultivating his patch of Valerian root, he looks up to the sound of wings. Huginn, one of the forest’s resident ravens, lands to perch at Loki’s left shoulder, tittering in distress.

“What is it?” Loki asks, passing a soothing hand over the raven’s head. It crows again before turning its gaze to the line of deciduous trees that surround Loki’s hut.

Emerging from the dense forest is a single figure, perched atop a dazzling white mare. Loki tenses immediately, hopping up from his seat on the ground and calling his magic to his side. Warmth rushes through his body, lighting his fingers with a wretched black aura.

Seemingly disquieted (be it from his magic or the blood-red that Loki’s eyes now glow), the stranger tugs on the golden reins in his fists to still his horse. Slowly, eyes never leaving Loki’s form, the man dismounts, landing on the ground about a hundred yards away.

The figure is tall, thickly muscled, with wavy blonde hair caught in a half-ponytail behind his head. He’s outfitted in a simple pair of riding leathers, and a small broadsword sits in a holster across his back.

“You are trespassing on this land,” Loki says slowly, holding his hand out to grip at his staff, which materializes in front of him. “There is a royal decree posted at the entrance.”

“Oh, I know,” the stranger replies. His voice is a rich, deep timbre. It’s almost melodic, and Loki finds it hard to keep his guard up. “I have permission. You are the blood-witch Loki, are you not?”

“You have _permission?”_ Loki sputters indignantly. “By whose decree?”

“The King’s,” the man says, almost flippantly. He begins his approach again, and Loki sinks back, gripping white-knuckled at his staff. “You are the blood-witch, correct?”

“I am,” Loki replies carefully, tapping the end of his staff ever-so-lightly on the ground beneath his feet. A magical barrier begins to shimmer into existence, tracing the lay-lines Loki had carefully crafted around his home. King Bor’s second term to his agreement with Loki: He was never to harm an Asgardian citizen.  

“I need your help,” the man says, coming to a stop just in front of the barrier. “Someone has placed a curse on the palace. People are falling ill.”

“I hope you don’t mean to imply that _I_ have done such a thing,” Loki hisses, stiff and apprehensive.

The man’s chuckle only sets Loki even further on-edge. “I would not imply such a thing. I simply require your help in breaking said enchantment.”

“I hold no responsibility to the crown,” Loki replies, growing tired of this conversation. “Ask the king, and you will know that my status is of a sovereign citizen. Why should I help you?”

“Oh,” the stranger replies, as if it is the simplest thing in the world. “Because I am the king. And I believe my grandfather’s agreement with you was far too lenient. As you live on Asgardian land, you should be prepared to be called to the aide of its citizens. Or risk losing your right to live here.”

As indignant heat begins to rise to Loki’s cheeks, Thor simply gives him a smile and turns back to his horse. As he leaves, he calls over his shoulder.

“A group of my kingsguard will be here tomorrow. They will have orders to either bring you to the palace to aide us or remove you from this land. The path they follow is up to you.” And with that, the king swiftly mounts his horse and trots away, leaving Loki sputtering in his wake.

Having flown away to perch on the thatched roof-top of Loki’s hut, Huginn returns to Loki’s shoulder, crowing softly. Loki tears his gaze from Thor’s retreating form to address the creature.

“He’ll regret that.” And with that, Loki begins to prepare.


	12. closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 40 + 98: Almost Kiss & Curses
> 
> I received this prompt from @thundervous on tumblr. I thought these two fit well within the universe of the last chapter (Fairy Tale AU & Awful First Meeting), so here's a little sequel!

Loki has never seen a curse such as this before. In the millennia that he’s been alive, Loki has prided himself on his knowledge of every type of magic that exists within the realms: be it seiðr or eldritch or blood magic like his own, Loki has never failed to identify a spell that he’s come across. That is, until now.

He’s been at the palace for several months, and despite their initial meeting, King Thor has been, by all definitions, a fine gentleman. He’s set Loki up with a room of his own, offered to send his servants out for anything Loki might need. Loki has taken him up on his offer more than once: in fact, the bumbling idiots had managed to find Loki a few sprigs of Dragon’s Breath, a fairly rare herb that Loki himself has only been able to locate once or twice at the top of one of Asgard’s tallest peaks. He’d decided it wasn’t worth the effort. But now that _he’s_ not the one who has to venture out to find it…

Anyways, Thor has been perfectly courteous, but Loki attributes that to the fact that he is quite possibly the only person on Asgard who can heal the palace’s inhabitants, and among them Thor’s mother, Frigga. Loki likes Frigga. Immensely. The past queen of Asgard is vastly knowledgeable in seiðr magic, and has been helping Loki in his search for a counter-curse when she possesses the strength of body to do so.

The curse is a slow-moving one: it begins by someone noticing that a toe, or a finger, or the tip of their nose, has become blackened with dead tissue. It progresses from there, and the magic eats at the victim’s body at a snail’s pace. Frigga had noticed her symptoms some four months ago, and her arm is only blackened to her elbow. Loki had attempted to restore the limb to life with healing magic: it had worked, for a few hours. Frigga had awoken in the morning with the necrosis far more advanced than it had been before, and Loki had immediately banned any attempts at further use of healing magic.

As time goes by, more and more inhabitants of the palace fall victim to the curse’s magic. A few cooks one week, a courier boy the next. Honestly, it surprises Loki that it takes so long for Thor to come knocking at the door to his quarters at half-past the witching hour, panting like he’s just run a marathon.

“Loki,” He says shakily, and holds out his hand for Loki’s inspection. The tip of his ring finger is black.

“It was only a matter of time,” Loki drawls, gingerly turning Thor’s hand this way and that. The king snatches it back, eyes narrowed.

“You don’t sound particularly worried,” He points out, and Loki looks up to raise an eyebrow at him.

“That’s because I’m not,” He replies bluntly, and the king takes a threatening step into Loki’s personal space. Loki’s eyes blaze red immediately, a defense mechanism.

“Take another step and that finger will be the least of your worries,” He snarls. “You’re lucky I’m even helping you, after you dragged me from my home with your threats.”

The king seems to deflate, then. Slowly, he sits down in Loki’s desk chair, dropping his head in his hands. He’s shaking, Loki notes with disinterest, as he takes his own seat on the edge of his bed.

It’s silent for a few moments. Loki can hear the chirping of crickets outside of his window, which opens up into one of the palace’s many courtyards.

“I’m sorry,” Thor says, breaking the silence. Loki blinks a few times, thrown off-kilter.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry,” Thor repeats. “That I threatened you. It was unkind of me. But I felt as if I didn’t have any other choice. Loki…” And Loki only sees genuine sincerity in the king’s sky blue eyes. “My mother was the first to fall ill. I panicked. As my father has fallen in to slumber, I had no one to turn to, and none of the healers could do anything for her.” He shakes his head, wipes his palms over his face. “My father’s head advisor, Heimdall, told me of a blood-witch, the most skilled and cunning of his kind, living on the outskirts of town. He said, if anyone could find a way to save my mother, it would be you.” Thor looks up again to meet Loki’s eyes, and all the air is sucked from Loki’s lungs. This man, the king of Asgard, sits before him with such sorrow in his eyes that Loki feels as though he may drown in it.

“I cannot lose my mother, Loki. You must understand.”

And Loki doesn’t understand, not really. He hadn’t so much been born of a mother as he had been born of the forest he called home. Loki doesn’t remember having someone to raise him, to watch after him as he grew. Since Loki entered this world some millennia ago, he has been basically alone.

“I never said I’d stop helping you,” Loki replies after a moment more. “If only to save your mother, as she seems to the the only being with some decency around these parts.”

Thor’s responding chuckle sends Loki’s heart up into his throat, and he swallows harshly, a bit mystified at himself.

“Thank you, Loki,” the king says, and then he’s suddenly in the witch’s personal space. One broad palm comes up, cups the side of Loki’s neck, gives a little squeeze. And then the king is gone, in the same thunderous fashion in which he arrived.

If Loki dreams that night of a warm grip on his neck and whispered words in his ear, he tells no-one.

After that night in Loki’s quarters, the witch really begins to put his mind to finding a cure. And, now, he has the king at his side: Thor, who does not possess even a spark of magic in his whole being, puts most of his kingly duties on hold in order to assist Loki. They spend long hours together, pouring over tomes and ancient writings until Loki can see the inscriptions when he closes his eyes. They usually end up shuffling to the kitchens together at some odd hour of the night, raiding the palace’s vast pantries for food to sate their growling stomachs so that they may get back to work.

“Tell me about yourself,” Thor says one night, while Loki has Thor’s blackened hand cradled in his lap, pouring a newly-concocted potion over the deadened skin.

“Don’t tell me that’s how you charm your maidens,” Loki murmurs, watching Thor’s palm with rapt attention. The liquid over his hand glows silver for a moment, before its light fades. Thor’s hand is still black. Loki snarls in frustration and tosses the vial to the side, falling to lie on his back.

“No, it’s not,” Thor chuckles, seemingly unperturbed by their most recent failure. He lies next to Loki, staring up at the high ceiling of Loki’s quarters. “It’s just that you’ve been here for half a year now, and I feel like I don’t know any more about you than when I first met you.”

“I’m a blood-witch,” Loki deadpans, and Thor rolls on his side to face him, smiling brightly.

“I know that,” He says. “But how did you become one? Where are you from?”

“You know very little about magic, Thor,” Loki drawls, tracing nonsense shapes in the air with his pointer finger. He’s the only one in the palace, besides Frigga, who doesn’t call Thor some iteration of ‘your Majesty.’ “One does not just _become_ a blood-witch. We are born that way. Whether one _chooses_ to awaken that power or not is a different story. Often, blood-witches are seen as the lowest of magic-wielders. Dirty, immoral beings.”

“Why’s that?” Thor asks. Loki turns his head to search Thor’s face, but only finds genuine curiosity.

“Blood-magic is dangerous, Thor,” He responds after a moment. “Even the smallest mistake in casting can cost a life. We, ourselves, are immortal. Different blood runs through our veins than that of mortals.” He taps lightly at a blue-green vein in the crux of Thor’s elbow. “Where do you think we get the blood we need in order to cast?”

“From mortal beings,” Thor says after a moment, realization lighting in his eyes.

“I get all of the blood I use in my casting from willing hosts. But some of my kind are not so…moral, in that way. It is witches like these who give us all a bad name.”

It is silent for a moment. Loki has not taken his hand from Thor’s arm. He’s unsure as to why.

“I never thought you immoral, Loki,” pushing up on his elbows so he can look Loki in the eye, Thor breaks the silence.

“It sure seemed like you did when you forced me from my birth-forest,” Loki mutters, mouth slanted in a frown. Thor blinks and reaches out, cups Loki’s neck again in signature fashion. Hopefully, he can’t feel how fast Loki’s pulse is racing beneath his skin.

“Birth-forest?”

“Beings like me are born from the elements, not from any mortal womb,” Loki responds quietly, looking up to meet Thor’s gaze. “I was born of that forest. It is as close to a mother as I will ever have.”

“I—“ And Loki has never heard the king so uncertain with his words. “I am sorry, Loki. I didn’t mean—I didn’t know—“

“It is alright,” Loki says. And, strangely, it _is_ alright to Loki.

“You may return as soon as the curse is broken,” Thor says, voice strong once more. “And I will renew my grandfather’s decree of the forest as your property only, so that others may not trespass.”

“Thor—“

“I know how it feels, to fear losing a mother,” Thor says. “I would not have you feel the same.”

It is again silent, the only noises echoing through the chamber being their mingled breaths. Thor’s gaze has now dropped from Loki’s eyes to his mouth, and the witch is paralyzed with _want_ and uncertainly. Slowly, as if gentling a flighty animal, Thor begins to lower himself towards Loki.

A knock on the door shocks Loki out of his reverie, and he rolls out from under the king as a page enters the room, looking fairly sweaty, as if he’s just run all the way here.

“What is the meaning of this?” Thor demands, and the page dips his head.

“I am so sorry, Majesty, I didn’t mean to interrupt. But, your mother—“

Thor is on his feet immediately, Loki close behind. Thor turns to exchange gazes with the witch, and they both nod.

“Back to work,” Loki says.


	13. soft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 94 + 95: Hair Brushing/Braiding & Sleep Intimacy
> 
> Requested by @trialanderror12 on chapter 9 (sorry about that mix-up! ^^')
> 
> This fic exists within the universe of diplomacy, mother & expectant. The timeline goes like this: diplomacy-->expectant-->soft-->mother

“Rough go of it?”

The only response Loki receives is a deep grunt as Thor drops Mjolnir at the entrance to their bedroom with a dull _thud_. It must’ve been worse than Loki first assumed, because Thor is usually so _gentle_ with that damned hammer. It’s like the weapon is his child. Nary a day goes by that Thor does not take time out of his day to shine and polish his prized weapon.

Drumming his fingertips over the swell of his stomach, Loki sorely hopes that his son will not have to compete with an inanimate object for its father’s affections.

Loki leans against the bathroom doorframe as he watches his husband undress messily, tossing his cape and chest plate to the floor as he steadily makes his way towards Loki. Before Thor can reach him, though, Loki gives a flick of the wrist, watching as his husband’s armor sorts itself into a nice pile on the bed.

“Watch the baby,” Loki warns, catching Thor as he makes a deadfall into Loki’s arms with a soft _ooph._ Loki may be slight, and he may be absurdly pregnant, but he supports Thor’s weight with ease, carefully guiding him to sit on the oversized plush chair that sits in front of their fireplace. Loki had commissioned it when he first learned of his pregnancy, taking full advantage of Thor’s promise to “get him anything and everything he desired”. Nowadays, as he approaches his sixth month of pregnancy, Loki tends to take his evenings in the chair, reading over treatises with a cup of something warm to drink.

“Tell me what happened,” Loki encourages as he checks Thor over for injuries, letting out a soft sigh of relief when he finds none. There exist only little patches and smudges of dirt and grime, which are easily fixed by a cleansing spell.

“It went as well as expected, to begin with,” Thor sighs, closing his eyes as Loki slowly begins to work the tangles out of his hair with a wide-toothed comb. It would be easy enough to snap his fingers and leave Thor’s hair soft and silky, but Loki particularly likes doing it the manual way. There’s something so unspeakably _intimate_ about taking Thor’s hair in his hands, unwinding the two braids that hang by his left ear so that he can brush his husband’s veritable _mane_ until there’s not a snag or tangle to be seen. In the morning, Loki will wake to re-braid Thor’s hair. After all, the two tiny plaits he wears now are entwined with a strand each of Loki’s own hair, a sign that Thor is happily and securely taken.

“And then?” Loki prompts, carefully working a few tangles out from the bottom of Thor’s hair. Thor sighs, goes silent for a while. When Loki taps his cheek so that Thor will turn to look at him, his blue eyes are troubled.

“They again demanded that I return you to Jötunheimr,” He sighs, taking one of Loki’s hands in his. “As if you are some sort of _item,_ a _commodity._ They assert that our babe is the heir to _their_ throne, and that, until you and the babe are returned to them, they will never sign the agreement.”

Pressing a kiss to Thor’s hand, Loki returns to working a knot out of his husband’s golden mane. “I figured as much.”

“You don’t sound too terribly worried.”

“Thor, I will not be returning to Jötunheimr. I know _you_ will not let them force me into returning. I belong here on Asgard. I belong here with _you,_ and with _our child._ ” Taking Thor’s hair into three small sections, Loki begins to plait, adding a strand of hair each time until all of Thor’s hair is caught behind his head.

“Loki…” And there it is, that tone of voice that means Thor’s thinking idiotic thoughts again. Loki sighs and smooths his hands down his braided masterpiece, presses on Thor’s shoulders to work at the millennia of stress that has built up in his muscles. His diversion tactics work, for a moment, as Thor lets out a great sigh and melts into the chair, letting Loki work a few knots free.

“You would tell me if you desired to return to Jötunheimr, wouldn’t you?”

Loki snorts, quite beyond his own volition. He works one more knot from Thor’s shoulders before circling to the front of the chair, arms crossed. Some of the action’s impact is lost, because Loki’s enormous belly leaves little room for his arms across his chest.

“What a stupid question. Of course I would tell you.”

“I wouldn’t stop you,” Thor says quietly. “I would find a way to be with you still, but I wouldn’t stop you if you said that you wished to return to your birthland.”

“And that’s why I’m here,” Loki says with a smile, perching lightly on the tops of Thor’s thighs so that he may circle his arms around his husband’s neck. His baby bump presses between them, and they both chuckle, moving to join their hands atop it. “Thor, you were right when you said that the Jötunar see me as a commodity. They see me as only a means to an end, as the carrier of an heir to their broken monarchy. Why would I wish to return to that, when I have a husband here, who sees me as not only a person, but as a partner? An advisor, a confidante, and a friend?” In a rare show of childish affection, Loki leans forward, brushes his nose against Thor’s until his husband chuckles, stealing a kiss. “The Jötunar were only interested in me when they found out about my past. _You,_ if my knowledge serves, have _always_ been interested in me.”

“You’ve got me there,” Thor grins, and Loki kisses him again.

“I am what I am. And I am proud of that. But right now, what I am the proudest of, is being your husband, the mother to our child, and the queen to our people.”

Standing carefully, so as to not jostle Loki from his perch, Thor scoops him up, carefully moving Loki to their bed. With sleepy hands and soft touches they undress each other, unhurried, with no ends to meet. After, Thor gathers Loki close, tucking him against his chest, baby bump resting comfortably between them.

“To Hel with Jötunheimr,” Loki murmurs. “We shall have peace with or without them.”


	14. out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12 + 75: Roommate AU & Bedsharing
> 
> A note before we begin: in this ficlet, I am writing for a pansexual genderfluid character. As a cisgendered lesbian myself, I do not have the same background or experiences that a person who identifies like Loki would have. Please, please shoot me a message if I misrepresent anything. 
> 
> There are also some ignorant questions addressed at Loki and biphobia (from other characters) addressed at Thor ahead.

It’s half-past two o’clock in the morning when Loki is awoken by the door to his apartment closing. Thor isn’t exactly being loud, per say, but the old, rickety, 1960s era foundations of the building they live in make it so that you can’t hardly breathe in the front entryway without moving something in the bedroom hallway. Pulling a pillow over his head, Loki groans and rolls over. His temples are still vaguely aching from the couple of eight-packs he split with Val a few hours prior, and he squeezes his eyes shut with every intention to just go back to sleep.

That is, until Loki remembers what exactly it is that Thor’s been up to.

About a week ago, Thor had come to Loki while the former was trying to finish up a paper for his Philosophy of Law class, wringing his hands and nervously asking Loki if _they could talk._ Loki had held one finger up, finished his last citation, and shut the lid of his laptop, gesturing for Thor to take a seat across from him on the couch.

“What’s on your mind?” Loki had asked.

“I think I’m bisexual,” Thor had blurted.

It had been silent for a few moments, Loki blinking widely while Thor’s face explored the color spectrum between baby pink and fire-truck red in a span of about ten seconds. Of course, Loki wasn’t put-off. Far from it, in fact. Loki had first come out as bisexual during his freshman year of high school, before learning about pansexuality and realizing that term more closely fit his own sense of self-identity. And once Loki’s counselor had explained to him what _genderfluidity_ was? Loki felt as if he’d finally fit together the parts of himself that had been standing in sharp dissonance all of his life.

Of course, he’d been extremely lucky to receive the support he had from his family: Fárbauti had sat down the day Loki had come out to her and gathered every resource she could on the topic of pansexuality and genderfluidity, devouring them all within hours. Loki had awoken the next morning to his mother making pancakes and asking what pronouns he’d like to be addressed by that day. And when Loki had sheepishly asked her to teach him how to apply makeup? She’d spent hours showing him, over and over, until Loki could successfully reproduce a winged eyeliner that was so sharp that it could probably kill a man.

Loki’s father and brothers had taken a bit more time. Helblindi and Býleistr had all types of questions when Loki had first told them: _isn’t that just being bisexual? Does that mean you want to be a girl?_ But Loki had taken time to explain to them what it meant, and how he felt, and he’d come away feeling fairly good about the conversation. It took them a while, but soon, the pair would ask for Loki’s pronouns for the day before beginning their incessant brotherly teasing. For his first Christmas after coming out, Loki’s brothers had collaborated on a sign for Loki’s door with Velcro attachments where he could post his pronouns each morning.

Laufey…is still getting a hang of things. Most of the time, Laufey will use Loki’s pronouns, but he still occasionally messes up and misgenders him. Loki doesn’t usually have to do the correcting, though: Fárbauti or Helblindi or Býleistr will usually hop in with a “it’s she today, dad,” or “ _he,_ remember, dear.”

Thor’s parents were not so accepting. At least, his father wasn’t. Loki had never met Thor’s mother, though with the tales Loki had heard about Frigga, he’d wager a guess that she would love Thor no matter what. Odin, on the other hand, was a stereotypical machismo father-type. All he cared about was his son’s football prowess and the girls Thor dated. It’s all he ever asked about. Loki remembers conversations Thor would have with Odin on the phone during their freshman year: “Yes, Dad, I’m still staring quarterback.” “No, Dad, I’m seeing another girl now. Her name is Melissa.”

As soon as Odin had left on move-in day, Loki had unpacked his pansexual pride flag, started to hang it up on the wall above his bed. Across from him, Thor had stilled.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, this?” And the skin at the back of Loki’s neck had prickled. “It’s a pansexual pride flag. Got it off the internet last year.” And he’d continued to hang it, but this time, a bit slower, hyper-aware of the fact that Thor’s gaze never left his back.

All of Loki’s worries about having a phobic roommate had disappeared soon after, though, as Thor was quite possibly the _friendliest_ person Loki had ever met in his life. He was constantly inviting Loki to hang out, or bringing him school gear that he’d gotten from the athletics department, or asking him to get pizza with Thor’s group of football friends. It was there that Loki had met his best friend Val, a gymnast who wore the school’s mascot suit, and Val’s friend Bruce, an awkward Biochemistry grad student.

And after waiting a whole semester to come out to Thor as genderfluid? The other man had simply smiled, nodded, and opened his arms for a hug.

Which is exactly what Loki had done for Thor.

The big oaf had crashed into Loki’s arms, holding him so tight that Loki feared he might be strangled to death. But he could feel that Thor was _shaking,_ and Loki had just held him, rubbing his back in soothing circles and promising that everything was going to be okay.

Which leads him back to the present, in which Thor has just returned from his first date with another man.

Loki is out of his bed in a second, ignoring the smarting protest at his temples as he hurries out of his bedroom and down the hallway. Skidding to a stop at the entrance to the living room, Loki throws his arms wide.

“How was—it…?” And Thor’s face tells Loki all that he needs to know. His eyes are downset, mouth turned in a grimacing frown. He’s taken off the leather jacket that Loki had picked out for him and is carrying it dejectedly at his side.

“Thor?” Loki asks quietly, taking a step forward. It takes a moment, but Thor does eventually look up to meet his gaze. His blue eyes, which are usually so full of light and laughter, are dim, dull in the light from their one standing lamp.

Loki has never felt the urge to murder so strongly.

“He said…” And Thor’s mouth works wordlessly for a moment. He brings an arm to wipe across his face, and Loki realizes that there are _tears_ in his eyes. “He said I couldn’t have both. That I had to choose…”

Loki frowns, not quite understanding. Slowly, he approaches, placing a gentle hand on Thor’s shoulder.

“Pardon?”

“It started out well. Then I mentioned Jane, and he…he…” Thor sniffles, and it’s like a dagger straight to Loki’s heart. “He said ‘ _oh, you’re one of those’._ He said I couldn’t have both men and women. That it was selfish. That I had to pick just one.”

Loki had been worried about this. Though, as a pansexual, he didn’t experience it in quite the same way, Valkyrie had told him once about how she and her then-boyfriend had been confronted at a pride parade, told that they didn’t belong. It’s why Loki had been so damned _careful_ when he was helping Thor search through Tinder. And the man they’d agreed upon had seemed fine enough—he was Thor’s type (skinny and with a mop of curly black hair. Huh. Loki had assumed Thor would be more interested in bigger men), and there wasn’t anything in his bio that jumped out to Loki as a red flag.

“Thor, Thor no,” Loki murmurs, cupping Thor’s bearded cheeks in his hands. “Look at me. That guy is an asshole. You don’t have to choose. You are completely valid as you are—don’t listen to anyone who tells you that you’re not.”

The watery smile Thor gives him in return breaks Loki’s heart all over again, and he drops his hands to take a hold of one of Thor’s arms.

“Come on. Come with me.”

He leads Thor down the hallway back to his room, carefully ushering him inside. Turning to give his roommate some privacy, Loki digs around in Thor’s closet (it’s an absolute mess. Loki makes a mental note to offer to help Thor organize) for a pair of sweatpants and a white v-neck t-shirt. He holds them out behind him and feels Thor take them from his hands, turning back around only when Thor murmurs _okay._

“Do you need anything? I think we have chocolate syrup in the fridge, I could make some hot chocolate…” And Thor shakes his head, stares down at his feet for a moment.

“Thor?”

“This…is going to sound silly,” Thor says after a moment more, still not bringing his eyes to meet Loki’s. “But I really don’t want to be alone right now.”

Loki blinks once, twice.

“Alright.”

Negotiating space on Thor’s tiny twin-sized bed is a battle, and Loki ends up closest to the wall with his back pressed along Thor’s front. After deciding that their positioning won’t do at all (he _cannot_ get aroused right now. Not after all Thor’s been through tonight), Loki flips so he’s facing Thor’s chest. He’s not actually sure if this is any better, though, as now he’s getting deep inhales of something that’s a mix of Thor’s cologne and the cheap shampoo they both use and something that is so uniquely Thor that it sets Loki’s heart racing.

Loki’s proud of his self-control, because he doesn’t jump when one of Thor’s arms comes to wrap around Loki’s shoulders, holding him close. They just lay like that for a while, until their breaths sync.

“Loki?” Thor asks into the darkness.

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh! In case anyone's wondering--Loki is a political science major. His focus is in international law. Thor is a business major (only because of Odin), but he's got a minor in literature that he absolutely adores. I like to imagine he enjoys feminist literature the most :)


	15. blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 33 + 17: Baby Fic & War Fic

Run, run, run.

It’s all Loki can think about, it’s what he keeps repeating over and over in his head as his bare feet meet rock and ice and snow alike.

Nari is crying. Honestly, Loki would be surprised if he wasn’t, given the circumstances. They’d been given little time to prepare once the alarm had been raised. Loki himself had barely a moment to snatch one of Nari’s heavier blankets to swaddle him in before Helblindi was shoving him at a group of guards.

“Keep my heir safe,” He’d snarled.

And what help his King’s guards had been. The whole lot of them had been slain almost instantly, as soon as they’d exited the palace. The intent had been to escort Loki and Nari to one of His Majesty’s strongholds in the north, so that if Helblindi himself were to fall, the rightful heir to Jötunheimr’s throne would yet survive. Loki, of course, was an afterthought, as he had been through the entirety of Nari’s gestation and birthing process. If Loki hadn’t been holding his son during the moment that the babe’s evacuation had been ordered, he likely would have been left behind with the other palace concubines to face the oncoming invasion. Ironic, that is, considering the fact that Loki’s quick thinking and magical prowess were the only reasons that Helblindi’s heir still lived.

Nari’s cries turn from those of fear to hunger, and Loki slows his pace, spares a glance behind him. All he can see, for miles about him, is the snow and ice and jagged rock that make up Jötunheimr’s landscape. There can’t be much harm in pausing for a moment to feed his son. After all, Nari’s cries could alert enemies to their location.

Settling himself on a suitable rocky outcrop, Loki moves his tunics to the side, allows his son to latch onto a teat and begin to feed. With a sigh, Loki smooths Nari’s jet-black curls back between his fledgling horns. Just now, at a month old, his markings are beginning to appear: deep blue whorls upon his forehead that denote his belonging to royal lineage. How Loki had rejoiced when Ymir’s crown had appeared upon his son’s brow. Had Nari inherited Loki’s own lineal markings, they both ran the risk of being thrown out on the street. That is, if His Majesty was in a good mood. If his mood was sour, as it often was towards Loki in the final months of the concubine’s pregnancy…well, Loki didn’t like to think about that very often.

It made Loki wonder near constantly as to why His Majesty had even picked him in the first place. Loki had been perfectly happy with his life before, living on the outskirts of town with his mother and brothers and sisters. It certainly wasn’t a cakewalk: their crops often refused to grow in the harsh climate and Loki’s mother had been sick since he could remember. But Loki had his potions and charms to sell, and the little ones often brought enough money home from their trips into town that going to bed hungry was a rare occurrence. It was why Loki had been so dead-set on refusing when His Majesty’s courier had appeared, offering Loki the chance to live in the lap of luxury as one of His Majesty’s concubines.

Loki wasn’t dull: he had heard the whispers about town. Every babe borne to the king had been of low blood, lacking the sacred crown markings upon its head that would denote the next king of Jötunheimr. His Majesty was obviously becoming desperate. So desperate that he’d send for the little witch-boy who lived in the straw-thatched hut at the edge of town.

But the courier had offered more than Loki’s comfort: “Come with me,” he’d said, “and the King will reward you greatly. Your family will be taken care of. Your mother will be looked after by the finest healers the palace has to offer.” And how, in good conscious, could Loki refuse that?

So he’d accepted the offer. He’d arrived at the palace and had been immediately swarmed by the other concubines, plucked and pinched and poked until he had gained several new piercings and was dressed in more gold than Loki had ever seen in his life. And then the king had bedded him. Twice. It was fast, and rough, and perfunctory, and Loki had awoken both times to an empty bed and a sore pain in his back.

Twelve days later, Loki had begun bleeding. A month after that, a palace healer had confirmed Loki’s suspicions: he was with child.

The courier’s message had been brief and passionless: the king was pleased to hear of Loki’s pregnancy. Loki would be afforded anything he might need or want, and he would be assigned a maid to take care of him throughout the gestation. The king himself was far too busy to visit his pregnant concubine, though, if time afforded, he would check in infrequently. Loki would be expected to accept him, no matter what he might be attending to at the time.

Helbindi’s visits had become more frequent in Loki’s final months of pregnancy. He had even spent a few nights with Loki settled in his lap, petting lazily over Loki’s bump. Loki knew better than to touch in return, though: he quite liked his head where it was atop his shoulders. And the awkward intimacy had ended soon enough, anyways, after Loki had been denied his freedom once the babe was born.

“You have wet-maids to nurse the babe once it’s born,” He remembers hissing, stalking back and forth like a caged animal. “Once I birth the child, you have no more use for me. Why must I stay here? I’ve given you what you wanted, haven’t I?”

“In the case that your firstborn isn’t of royal blood,” Helblindi had drawled, entirely uninterested, “I’ll need to breed you again for another. And in the case that this child does bear the royal markings, who knows? Perhaps I’d like a litter of royal children. And you are remarkably fertile.”

Loki had responded with some choice words in anger. Words that had soured the King’s demeanor discernibly. There were no more visits. Helblindi hadn’t even been present for Nari’s birth, instead choosing to leave on a hunt a week prior to Loki’s due date.

Loki’s son hiccups as he finishes feeding, blinking up at Loki with wide, red eyes. Reaching down to thumb a little excess milk away from the corner of Nari’s mouth, Loki shakes his head a bit. Freedom or not, he wouldn’t have been able to leave his son. The child is perfect in every way, from the top of his head all the way down to his little blue toes. Nari’s birth had shaken Loki out of whatever deep depression he’d fallen into after he’d learned of his fundamental slavery.

The sound of horses sends Loki lurching into action, standing suddenly and causing Nari to warble in displeasure. He’s lingered here for too long, and now someone has caught up to him. Tucking Nari close to his chest, Loki reaches for his seiðr and finds himself lacking: the pregnancy had taken a toll on his magic reserves, and he is still recovering. The transportation magic Loki had thrown to facilitate their escape from the invading forces earlier had drained his supplies.

Gripping his favorite dagger in one fist and hiding it under Nari’s blanket, Loki turns to face his pursuers.

The group is about five or six strong: riding at the fore on a brilliant white mare is a man that Loki recognizes as Prince Thor of Asgard. Loki’s seen him once or twice before, when the royal party from Asgard had arrived on Jötunheimr to negotiate peace. Of course, Helblindi wouldn’t hear of it, and the whole thing had gone to Hel in about a fortnight’s time. Usually the concubines were kept away from visiting parties when they came knocking, but Loki was somewhat of a troublemaker, and he’d often sneak past the guards to get a glimpse at the outsiders.

Early during Loki’s pregnancy, he’d been a little too carefree, a little too sure of himself, and he’d drawn the attention of a golden, thickly-muscled man from Asgard’s visiting party. Curiously, the man had approached, leaving Loki with little time to run away.

“And who might you be?” The man had asked, taking one of Loki’s hands in his own. The concubine had sputtered, scrambling for a lie, but there was something about the broad, sunny smile on the man’s open face that made Loki want to tell the truth.

“I’m Loki,” He had managed, feeling heat rise to his cheeks when the man leant down to place a kiss atop Loki’s hand.

“Loki,” He had hummed. “I have seen many beautiful things in this realm, but none that compare to you.”

The same man stands before him now, albeit now clothed in battle armor and spattered with splotches of violet blood that make Loki feel a bit sick to his stomach. Thor dismounts his steed, and Loki takes a step back, tucking Nari even closer to his chest.

“Why are you running, little one?” Thor questions, and Loki’s hackles raise.

“Watch how you speak to me, Aesir,” He hisses, canines bared in a sharp threat. “I will not hesitate to eviscerate you.”

Somehow, Thor’s responding chuckle only sets Loki’s blood boiling hotter. “I do not doubt it,” He says, hands raised as if in surrender. “I only wish to know why you run from us.”

“Are you dull?” Loki snaps, and one of the men behind Thor reaches for his sword. The prince merely shakes his head, though, and the man ceases in his actions. “You ask me why I run from those who wish to kill me.”

“We wish not to kill you,” Thor says calmly. “Only to free you from the rule of a tyrannical monarchy.”

“You saw me come from the palace,” Loki snarls. “You’ve been pursuing me ever since. You know who I am, and you know of that which I carry.” And, as if he knows he’s being spoken of, Nari coos, wriggles around in his blanket.

Thor takes a step forward, and Loki finds himself rooted to the spot by that same soft smile he’d seen all those moons ago.

“Oh, I know who you are, little Loki. King Helblindi’s prized concubine, mother to the heir apparent.” And Loki’s fist tightens around the knife hidden close to his chest. “In my eyes, you and your child are innocent. I will convince my father of the same.” Another step, and Loki narrows his eyes, sets his jaw stubbornly. “So I have a proposition for you, Loki,” Thor says. Another step.

“Come with me, and help begin a new dawn for Jötunheimr; or stay here, and remain loyal to a King who gave up your location to save his own head.”

A smirk begins to creep onto Loki’s face.

“I always hated that prick, anyways.”


	16. stop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a new set of prompts! They can be found here: https://tegary.tumblr.com/post/174872674679/right-to-the-good-parts-prompt-list
> 
> #2: We were dancing but all of a sudden it’s a slow song and we’re standing here awkwardly staring at each other
> 
> For my dear friend @foundlingmother!
> 
> (Also oops I added another ficlet to the Diplomacy universe...starting to consider making this timeline a full-blown fic. Lol.)
> 
> The events of Thor (2011) never occur. Thor ascends to the throne, Loki remains by his side as his closest advisor: Stop-->Diplomacy-->Expectant-->Soft-->Mother

“ _Thor,_ ” Loki hisses, tugging weakly at the King’s grip ‘round his wrist. “This is ridiculous. You have women to court–”

“The women can wait for one measly song,” Thor interrupts, pulling Loki farther onto the dance floor. “Besides, who says I cannot take my first dance as King with my Grand Vizier? Come on, Loki, just one song. It will be like it was when we were boys.”

Loki sighs. It’s not like he’s been able to deny Thor anything. Additionally, he can’t help the warm feeling of satisfaction that rises in his gut at the thought of Thor choosing him over all the beautiful maidens lined up across the dance floor, hoping for their chance to woo Asgard’s newly-crowned King.

Thor turns to the orchestra, gestures to the maestro, who smiles and raises his baton. The musicians begin to play a little ceremonial jig, a song to which Loki and Thor used to perform at court, much to the delight of their father’s cabinet.

“Still remember how to do this?” Thor teases gently, raising one forearm towards Loki.

“Just don’t step on my toes again,” Loki teases back, bringing his own forearm up to meet Thor’s.

The moves return to Loki’s feet with ease, though he now performs them with a grace and elegance that he lacked as a child. He was not nearly as bad as Thor, though, who often tripped over Loki’s feet or skipped a sequence of moves entirely, forcing Loki to think quickly in order to save their performance. 

Thor has grown into his body as well, though, and now he executes his part of the dance with nearly the same level of poise and balance that Loki himself possesses. It causes Loki to marvel at his brother a bit, to trace the lines of Thor’s joyous smile up to his glittering blue eyes. Their gazes catch and hold for a moment, and Loki returns Thor’s grin, dipping back so that Thor can catch him ‘round the waist in the move that will end their little dance. 

The music stops, and Loki gazes up at Thor from where the latter has him bent over his knee in a dip. They’re both panting and sweating and grinning like idiots, and Loki lets his body relax back into Thor’s grip, just enjoying the moment for as long as it’ll last.

Thor begins to lift Loki back up at the sound of applause and cheers from the crowd, and Loki chuckles, tipping his head at Thor as he sets the trickster back on his feet. Thor leans forward to press their sweaty foreheads together, grip still firm about Loki’s waist, and the two brothers just rejoice in each other’s presence. 

The orchestra starts up again, this time a slow, tremulous waltz, and Loki starts a bit to realize that the applause has died down, and he’s still pressed up against Thor’s chest like some sort of maiden. Thor doesn’t seem to mind it, though, as now his hands have slipped from Loki’s waist up to the small of his back, and his blue eyes are boring into Loki’s own as if he’ll be able to find the answer to some long-held secret there. And he just might, if Loki allows this to go on for much longer.

He moves to leave, with at least a bit of his dignity in tact, but Thor’s grip holds true. Breath stuttering, Loki looks up to meet Thor’s gaze again, hoping the King can’t feel Loki’s heart racing from where their chests are pressed tight together.

“Who said I can’t have my second dance as King with my Grand Vizier?” Thor murmurs. 


	17. please

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this list of prompts: https://tegary.tumblr.com/post/174872674679/right-to-the-good-parts-prompt-list
> 
> #5: It’s time to fight the boss and if I don’t tell you now, I might not live to tell you
> 
> For @fairy-changeling :)

“Send the escape pods as soon as they are at max capacity,” Thor is ordering, trying to shout over the sounds of mass hysteria that fill the halls of the Ark. “Make sure all the shields are up, take all who cannot fit onto the pods into the center of the ship–”

“Thor–Thor!” Loki wheezes, having finally caught up to his brother. “Wait, please.”

“Loki, we have no time, Thanos is _here–”_

“I’m well aware, I saw the ship,” Loki snaps, brushing a few wayward strands of hair from his eyes. “It will only take a moment, please. I need to tell you something.”

“I–alright,” Thor sighs, though he’s poised like he’s ready to take off again as soon as Loki finishes his next sentence. The trickster reaches out, curls a hand around one of Thor’s biceps. 

“This isn’t–blast it. This isn’t how I’d hoped to tell you this,” Loki sighs, free hand beginning to weave magic behind his back. A look crosses Thor’s face like it’s physically paining him to stand still at this moment.

“Loki–”

“Alright, I know, we don’t have any time. And Thanos is here, and we have our people to protect, so I’ll make this short. I love you.”

The strained look upon Thor’s face is replaced with something softer. “Loki, I love you too–”

“No, not in that way,” Loki interrupts, hand behind his back gripping the solid object that has just landed in his palm. “Thor, I _love_ you. Ever since we were boys. And I hadn’t meant to tell you, not in a million millennia, but there’s a good chance that I’ll die within the next few minutes and my brash actions have doomed all of these people, so I figure it’s now or never.” And before Thor can respond, before he can react, Loki is rising up onto his toes and pressing a firm kiss to his brother’s lips. 

When Loki pulls away, he’s got the Tesseract pressed to the center of Thor’s chest.

“Loki–” Thor begins, startled, but the Trickster shakes his head, something suspiciously misty in his green eyes. 

“Save this universe,” Loki says softly. “I know you can.” And, before Thor can say another word, he’s swallowed up in a flash of blue light, hurtling towards Midgard with the infinity stone in tow. 


End file.
